"Gas are only dangerous when you don’t know the rules. Lucky for ...I’ve never cared much for following them."
A laugh broke from her—short, sharp, and too surprised to be polished. It slipped past her lips before she could stop it, the sound carrying the edge of disbelief more than humor.
Is he serious?
Lucavion blinked at her, as if her reaction wasn’t quite the one he’d expected. But then the corner of his mouth curved again, slowly, like a gambler watching his opponent toss down an unexpected hand.
"Well," Elara said, the word carrying a hint of sothing wry as she tilted her head slightly. "At least you’re consistent."
His smirk deepened. "Consistently charming, you an."
"No," she said, flat as slate. "Consistently infuriating."
Lucavion clutched his chest in mock pain. "Cruel. But fair."
Elara rolled her eyes—just barely—but the slight motion softened the edges of her expression. On the surface, it was all banter, posturing, the kind of back-and-forth that felt like dueling with dull blades. But inside, her thoughts churned in quieter, more tangled circles.
He hasn’t changed.
The way he talks. The way he plays. That drawling confidence wrapped in clever provocations. This was him, even back then—back in Stormhaven, back when she thought she understood the shape of his soul.
But now...
Did I ever actually know him?
Was Lucavion just what Luca beca? Or was he always this—this creature of edges and silk, of laughter hiding knives? Was Luca the illusion, the lie she clung to because it made the betrayal more bearable?
’Which of them was real?’
’Who did I trust?’
’And who the hell did I hate?’
The questions coiled like smoke in her lungs, too thick to breathe through, too familiar to discard.
Damned bastard.
She swallowed them all. Tucked them back beneath her ribs like broken glass she didn’t have ti to pick through. Not yet. Not when the path ahead demanded masks and steadiness. Not when her mission left no room for doubt.
He nudged her shoulder lightly with his own. "Careful. That smile’s starting to look genuine."
Elara blinked. "I’m not smiling."
"Oh?" he said, gaze gleaming. "Then your lips must be impersonating soone who’s enjoying my company."
"I’ll inform them to stop," she said dryly.
Lucavion gave a low, satisfied hum. "Too late. I’ve already taken it as encouragent."
"Of course you have," she muttered, stepping slightly ahead of him—not quite retreating, just reasserting space. "You take everything as encouragent."
"Well," he said, easily falling into step beside her again, "so of us have to maintain a healthy sense of confidence."
"Confidence and delusion are cousins."
"I’m fond of family reunions."
She sighed, though there was a note of reluctant amusent under it now. "You’re impossible."
"And yet," he said, grinning, "here you are. Still talking to ."
She shot him a glance, sothing sharp and unreadable flickering in her gaze. "Only because I’m studying how deep the madness goes."
He leaned in slightly, voice lowered like a secret. "Careful, Elowyn. If you study too hard, you might find you like what you see."
Her pulse jumped. But her expression didn’t waver.
"I already know what I see," she said, cool and even.
"Oh?" His tone lifted, curious.
"An arrogant, reckless show-off who thrives on attention."
He laughed—not offended in the slightest. "Guilty."
"But also..." she added, and paused.
Lucavion tilted his head, waiting.
Elara didn’t finish the sentence.
Because she didn’t know how to finish it.
Not yet.
Because what she saw—what she thought she saw—beneath the performance, beneath the gas, was still shifting. Still blurred between mory and presence.
Lucavion tilted his head again, eyes narrowing just a touch—not threatening, not even curious exactly, but... speculative.
Then, quietly—almost too quietly—he said:
"Your manner of speaking... it reminds of soone."
Elara’s pulse flickered.
Lucavion continued, thoughtful now. "Not exactly. But there’s a rhythm in the way you say things. The calm over sharp edges. The kind of voice that sounds like it’s always holding back more than it gives."
His gaze drifted to the path ahead, though his attention still clung to her like frost. "Our eting was brief. I doubt she’d even rember . But she spoke like this too."
Elara’s lungs froze mid-breath.
Not from fear.
Not even from surprise.
But from the icy slide of recognition.
He’s talking about .
He doesn’t know it—but he’s talking about .
The girl in Stormhaven. The one no one dared touch directly, but everyone whispered about after the fall. The one who’d stood at the center of her own undoing and hadn’t flinched until the exile papers were inked in full.
.
She didn’t let it show. Not even a twitch.
Elara offered a soft hum in response. Casual. Noncommittal.
"Sounds like a charr."
Lucavion glanced at her sidelong, sothing unreadable flickering behind those abyss-dark eyes.
And then...
"Pffft...."
His lips parted—curving into a crooked grin. A soft laugh broke free, low and unrestrained, as he raised a hand to cover his mouth.
"That was funny..." he murmured, half to himself.
The sound drew a few side glances from nearby students, curious but wary. But it was Selenne who reacted most sharply. Her violet eyes cut toward him, sharp as a blade unsheathed mid-step.
"Lucavion."
The single word held no volu, yet it silenced the air around them.
He straightened a little under the weight of her gaze, though his smirk lingered.
"What is it you find so amusing?" she asked coolly. "If sothing is worth laughter, then surely it is worth sharing with the class. Or are we to believe you enjoy muttering private jokes in the middle of orientation?"
It was the classic teacher’s strike—subtle rebuke wrapped in perfect composure.
Lucavion paused, then spread his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. "Ah... nothing important. Just rembered a story. Old one. You wouldn’t want to hear it—it involves a goat, a wine cellar, and very poor decisions."
A few chuckles rippled across the group despite themselves. But Selenne’s gaze didn’t soften. She let the silence stretch for one more breath before turning back ahead, her cloak swaying as she resud her pace.
Lucavion fell back into step as if nothing had happened, expression casual, though a spark of amusent still danced in his eyes.
But the mont hadn’t gone unnoticed. Whispers flickered around the group, subtle glances trading between students. And Elara, despite her effort to appear unaffected, could feel her friends’ eyes on her like needles.
It was Selphine who leaned in first, voice pitched low. "Elowyn."
Marian followed imdiately after, her tone carrying more suspicion than curiosity. "Since when... have you and Lucavion known each other?"
Elara blinked once, slow, as if buying herself ti.
But Selphine, sharper than the rest, cut in before she could respond. "Since qu—"
Her words never finished.
A buckle of frost ford across her lips in an instant, silvery-blue ice glinting faintly in the light. The sound cut off with a muffled protest as her eyes widened.
The shift was subtle enough that only those nearest caught it—her friends, and perhaps Lucavion, who seed to notice everything he wasn’t supposed to.
Elara’s gaze fixed on Selphine, sharp as a knife’s edge. It was silent, but the ssage rang louder than any spell she could’ve spoken aloud: Enough.
Selphine froze. A flicker of defiance lingered in her eyes, but it lted under Elara’s unyielding stare. With a tense swallow, she gave the smallest of nods and said nothing more.
The frost dissipated, leaving only the faintest shimr of lingering mana. Selphine shut her mouth tight, lips pressed into a line.
"...Am I missing sothing?" Marian muttered, glancing between them, frustration pricking her tone.
But Elara didn’t answer her. She didn’t need to.
Because Cedric was already looking into her eyes.
And she for so reason felt strange at that.
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